


fracture

by buckysasshole69



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Season 4, Spoilers (in a vague sort of way), post MAG 160, they are also traumatized and british and thus finding it hard to cope, they're living together and they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysasshole69/pseuds/buckysasshole69
Summary: Loneliness is like a fracture that never heals quite right. After the break, the pieces never fit together like they used to, and it leaves behind a dull ache that returns in the quiet of the dark.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	fracture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palebluedot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/gifts).



Jon broke his arm when he was a boy, Martin knows.

No, that’s not quite right, he didn’t break it. Thomas, or Michael, or Daniel, or whatever it was—Jon claims to have forgotten the name of his bully and Martin chooses to believe him—broke it for him, before the incident with the book. An open fracture, the doctors said, and although Jon never looked down, never saw the bones sticking out of his skin, it left behind a jagged scar on his wrist.

(Martin doesn’t know this, but the fracture never healed quite right. After the break, the pieces never fit together like they used to, and it left behind a dull ache that returns every year right at the start of winter.)

Of course, Jon has other marks now, ones that haven’t faded yet. A scar on the palm of his right hand from a burn that was never treated. A silver line on his neck, thin like the edge of a knife. Small, round marks all over his left shoulder, his side, his back.

(Martin doesn’t know this either, but Jon feels like his heart might stop when he brushes his lips against them, kissing them ever so softly.)

But those are nothing compared that other scar that, Martin knows, is carved deep inside Jon’s chest. It is the mirror image of the one that he can feel somewhere within himself when he wakes up in the dead of the night to find the other side of the bed empty and the thought—you will always be alone—already pushing at the edges of his mind.

It’s an invisible one, that scar, unless one dares to look.

The night when he finally gathers the courage to step out into the balcony and wrap his arms around Jon, his hands gently stroking his chest, Martin can almost feel the edges of it. He doesn’t need the powers of an Archivist to know that, those nights, the loneliness is a very sharp thing for Jon, one that drives him out for fear of hurting Martin with it.

“You really should quit,” Martin says in the morning as he carries the ashtray in from the balcony and empties it into the trashcan.

(Martin doesn’t know why the words won’t quite come out right, because what he wants to say is that Jon isn’t alone, that he’s there for him, that—)

“I know,” Jon says quietly.

“I mean it,” Martin tries again. “Smokers are at a much higher risk of heart disease—”

“Yes, I know, Martin.”

“—not to mention lung cancer, and—”

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon snaps, and he falls silent.

“Right,” Martin says after a second. “Right, yes, of course you know.” He laughs nervously. “I forget sometimes that you’re, you know, all-knowing now. I mean,” that little laugh again, “not that you need to be all-knowing to know that, it’s—”

“No,” Jon cuts him off. He’s on his feet now. “I _know_.”

He takes two steps towards him, and Martin sees him hesitate, his throat working.

“I’m sorry, I’m—I’m not particularly good at this,” he says finally. “I’ve never—I’ve never really—” He takes a deep breath. “Me, too.”

“What?”

“I’m—I’m—” Jon hesitates again, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m here for you, too.”

That night, when Martin wakes—he dreams that he screams until he can taste blood, calling for someone, _anyone_ —the other side of the bed isn’t empty. His hand finds Jon’s and his fingers curl around his wrist, almost like he’s afraid that, if he lets go, he’ll disappear.

But Jon draws him closer to him, until their foreheads rest together, and gradually Martin’s breathing slows. He runs his thumb over Jon’s wrist, and his fingers trace the slightly raised line of his scar.

(Martin doesn’t know this, but loneliness is like a fracture that never heals quite right. After the break, the pieces never fit together like they used to, and it leaves behind a dull ache that returns in the quiet of the dark.)

The silence is only broken by the sound of their breathing until Jon turns his head slightly and gestures to the window.

“Look,” he says. “Dawn is breaking.”

(But a dull ache is not a sharp thing, and if the pieces don’t quite fit together it’s because space has been made for something else, and this is something Martin knows.)

“Yes, it is.”

When Jon turns back, Martin is looking steadily back at him, the first hint of a smile lighting up his face.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i haven't actually listened to the whole thing, i'm still halfway through season 3 and i only vaguely know what happens in the end, so please Do Not spoil this for me if you comment. i only wrote this to prove that i'm not a coward. if you stumbled onto this, i'm sorry. if you're palebluedot, perish.


End file.
